To Live, To Learn, To Die
by lunartick
Summary: After Shishio is dead, where should I go? How do I make up my mind on who's correct? I shall wander, and I shall see, and I shall learn who to trust. Soujiro's life after Shishio dies. RandR!
1. Chapter 1

Hi people, this is going to be astory depicting Soujiro's life after Shishio died. It is the suggestion of one of my reviewers to do something about that period of Soujiro's life. If it doesn't turn out good… well, I apologise. Anyhow, do read and review!

**Indecision **

A chilly breeze swept through the land, swirling cherry blossom petals into a beautiful whirlwind of pink and white. Admist this fragile tornado, a lady danced, swinging an umbrella as she stepped in time to the musicians plucking away at strings and drums.

Soujiro watched quietly from his seat, sipping a cup of tea as the lady smiled demurely at the rowdy crowd gathering to watch. It was a long time since he last saw such beauty, a long time since Yumi and Shishio had died amidst the roaring fire.

He felt he had gotten over it, but he hadn't, not really anyway. For one, he could not wipe the smile off his face.

It was true, that this expression had been born of the desire to escape the torture his foster family had inflicted on him. Thus he was puzzled as to why it remained. Was it really because he could not get rid of the habit? Or… was it because he was still escaping?

Sighing, he lay his cup down and rubbed his hands together to generate warmth. It was still cold; it being early spring, and his clothes were too worn down to be of any help.

It helped that he hadn't been growing in a while. He still looked like a child… but was perhaps further from being a child-demon than he was two years ago.

Two years… it felt like a century. He had often heard people describe the passing of time as such, but he only truly understood what it meant after Shishio had died. He had traveled as far north as he could, before heading west. Everything looked remarkably the same to him – people acted remarkably the same everywhere.

The weak that Himura tried to hard to save, had turned on him more times than he could have imagined.

Perverts, robbers, murderers, coming in all different shapes, sizes and genders; he didn't kill all of them, just those that he really disliked. His eyes narrowed but his smile remained as he stabbed viciously at a piece of tofu, causing the fragile morsel to break into pieces. What was it with him and perverts anyway? He could not enter a town and leave without running into at least one bunch. Perhaps he should mutilate his face, carve a cross much like the one Himura had. That would save him a lot of trouble most certainly.

"Excuse me." A sweet, tinkling voice reached his ears, and he looked up to see the dancer standing before him, her umbrella held demurely by her side as she bowed and smiled.

"Yes?" he smiled back, not so much out of politeness, but more out of habit.

"Pardon me for asking," she said, a sleeve raised coyly to her mouth, "but I would be most grateful if you could share your place with me. There aren't any seats left and… the other people…" She blushed a faint shade of pink as she gestured at the half-drunk men gesturing wildly for her to accompany them.

"Of course," he replied, smiling happily away, "that is if you don't mind the mess." He gazed down at the bench covered with the remains of his lunch.

"Oh no, of course not, sir," she giggled shyly, "I am merely looking for a place to rest, sir, and as for the mess… I've seen messier places than this." She sat down a comfortable distance from him, and brushed thick wavy hair off her face. "It is most tiring to dance all day like this."

"It would seem." Soujiro stared into his tea cup, his mind still on the cross Himura had on his face.

"My name is Maiko, by the way," she went on, seeming to ignore his desire for silence.

"I am Soujiro," he sighed, resigning his fate to a conversation with the lady.

"How nice," she said, bowing slightly, forcing him to return the favour, "you do not sound like you are from around here."

Soujiro continued sipping his tea. "I'm from Kyoto." Briefly, he mused about the potential dangers of telling her that, but failed to see any harm. Thousands of people came from Kyoto anyway, and Shishio was still a state secret.

"Oh! I heard it is the most beautiful city there is," she raised her sleeve again as she giggled, "It must be so lovely."

"It was…" Lowering his eyes, Soujiro stared at his feet, remembering the last time his sandals looked this worn down.

"I'm from Hokkaido," she went on, not sensing the melancholy in his smile, "I came here because it's too early for fishing season to start, and well… everyone needs to be fed." She laughed suddenly, as bright and warm as the sun after rain. "How about you, Soujiro-san? Has farming season been bad? Or is it not the season for commerce."

"Well…" Soujiro paused. Was there even a season for commerce? "I'm a ronin…"

"Oh…" Now she was looking at him with new interest, "How wonderful! I've never met a ronin before! Who was the master that you lost?"

Startled, Soujiro turned to her, his smile stretching wider than previously as he eyed her suspiciously. "Why would you ask?"

"Why?" she appeared surprised even as she said it, "Well… because it's polite, isn't it? Or did I ask something I shouldn't have?"

Relaxing, Soujiro slid back into a slouch as he smiled politely at her. "Oh no, not at all." She waited, but he did not continue on with the identity of his master.

"I couldn't tell you were a ronin anyway," she said brightly, her voice slightly strained, "Gosh, you look so young! How old are you anyway? Please don't tell me you were already a samurai during the Tokugawa era!"

"Eighteen." He smiled at her, even as he knew her for a fool – one who blabbers when nervous never lives long.

Her smile was genuine now, her demeanor relaxed; disarmed by his smile. "How nice. I'm sixteen," she was gentle again, back to a demureness that was not truly of her nature, "I have to go now. It has been a most pleasant experience."

Bowing, she turned and hurried away. Still worried, still apprehensive – she had sensed danger from the child-demon.

Soujiro reached into his bag and gently touched his sword.

She had every right to be.

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That night, Soujiro curled up in the barn of a kind farmer and stared up into the high ceiling. The grassy smell of rice invaded his nose, and a feeling of claustrophobia flooded his chest in a sense of déjà vu. He wanted out, but out meant confronting the chill of the night with only a thin piece of worn out cloth on his back.

He couldn't decide which was the lesser evil.

Turning onto his side, he concentrated on his thoughts, trying to fade his environment into the background. It worked, at least for a while. Anyway, the time before sleep was best spent wondering who was correct.

The strong shall live, and the weak shall die.

The strong shall protect, and the weak shall be protected.

Who was correct? He could not make up his mind.

Ignoring the philosophy he had believed in for the better part of his youth, he concentrated on the foreign philosophy.

The strong shall protect, and the weak shall be protected.

Somehow, that always sounded wrong to him. Why should the strong protect the weak? Was it some kind of duty or role that… that heaven had set for them? How was the strong to protect the weak anyway? Would helping the weak that you run into make a difference? Would helping one weak person make the world a better place?

It would be like trying to throw all the seashells on the beach back into the sea.

He had tried it before. It didn't make much of a difference.

Perhaps Himura felt that he was at least doing something.

But if doing something led to nothing, was it worth it?

Growling, he flipped onto his stomach and burrowed his nose into the hay. Why couldn't the end of the battle have decided everything? Why couldn't he just say he lost, and thus Himura was correct? Why did he have to think and search for an answer like that?

It felt like a massive waste of his time on earth.

Yet, the more he thought of it, the less Shishio's philosophy made sense to. If the strong shall live, and the weak shall die, why were there so many weak people in the world and so few strong people?

In general, he thought, as he sneezed into the hay, both philosophies had one major flaw in them.

How do you determine who is weak and who is strong?

You can't do it by the sword, for few knew how to use the sword in this era.

You can't do it by wealth and statuses, for wealthy men are as vulnerable to death as a beggar. He would know - he had proved it more times than he could count.

Then what? How do you decide anything if everything could very well be relative?

Sneezing again, he sat up and rubbed his red nose gingerly. Was he becoming allergic to hay? He hoped not, for barns provided almost half of his shelter.

It was then he heard a scream, a scream as shrill as a whistle.

He immediately thought of Shishio.

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"No! No! Don't hurt me!"

"Shut up, bitch!"

"No…"

Half in a daze, he had wandered out of the barn, half expecting to see a bleeding, foaming mummy, slicing away the arms of a policeman. Instead, what he saw was a group of men surrounding a girl, sticks in hand.

"Wh…?" Still in a daze, he stared blankly at the girl. He knew her. She was the lady dancer he had seen this afternoon.

"What do you want?" He snapped out of his stupor and stared blankly at the mountain of flesh before him. "Well, boy?"

"I…" He hesitated. What did he want?

"Help me!" the girl screamed, "Soujiro-san! Help me!"

"Oh… you know the lady." Now there were snickers all around as the towering man laughed. "What's the matter? Playing hero? Trying to save your girlfriend?"

"Help me!" she screamed again, and one of the men smashed her across the face.

"What are you going to do to her?" Soujiro asked.

"She stole two bags of gold from us, that bitch! We're going to beat her up then drown her in the river. What're you going to do about that?"

The world became fuzzy again. For a moment, instead of the girl, he saw himself, prone on the ground, beaten over and over again by his unfair family. Looking at his arm, he startled. It appeared to be covered in bandages… and pus was leaking through them.

He was Shishio. He was Makoto Shishio.

"I… I don't know…" He was still staring at his arm, staring at the pus tainted with blood, leaking through the bandages, "What am I going to do about it?"

Through the fog, he was aware that the man was looking at him, bemused. "That's what I'm asking, boy! Either you scram or you get trashed. Choose your poison." He laughed at his joke and the others joined in.

"Soujiro-san…" she whimpered, caressing her bruised cheek. "Help me… please…"

"Is this a sign?" he whispered, swaying on his feet. "Is this a sign?"

"What are you talking about?"

Suddenly, the fog cleared, and he was back in the present time, staring at a group of men surrounding a lady. He stared at his arm, but there were no bandages left, only a white and blue sleeve.

"Help me!" she screamed, much louder this time. "Help me, please!"

"No…" He took one step back, wiping his head. It was drenched in sweat. "No." He smiled now, feeling much more confident. "I wouldn't help you."

"W… why?" she was struggling to her feet. "You are a samurai!"

"No, I'm sorry," he smiled and stretched, "It's not that I don't like you." He laughed suddenly. "It's just that I haven't made up my mind."

"No!" she screamed, but he was already walking away.

The screams and the thrashes did not affect him the slightest, he realized, as he settled down back into the hay. They merely formed the hum of the background noises. He had not been lying when he told her he hadn't made up his mind. It was true – he hadn't. So, he would not help the weak, nor would he kill the weak, not until he had decided who was correct. He wondered if Himura would have been pleased with what he was doing. He suspected not.

Slowly, sleep engulfed him like a warm blanket, and gently tugged his eyelids down. He would dream tonight, he thought, and he would dream of many happy dreams, dreams of being warm, comfortable, and… unconfused.

Outside, the screams stopped, but on and on, the wind continued howling. It would grieve tonight, grieve until the child-demon awakened the next day, and bring forth a new day in the crimson light of dawn.

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	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

Hello people. Just a short explanation here to quell all the disgust at the ending of the first chapter. First, as I told one of my reviewers, the decision Soujiro made was not a moral one, but an intellectual one, thus he wasn't being evil or anything like that. If you don't get it then e-mail me, and I'll try to explain it.

I initially intended to drag Soujiro through like eight different kinds of hell before giving him a nice, happy ending, but since this fic is my most unpopular one so far, I decided to end it in this chapter. Thus, this chapter has become rather hasty… and just not as good as I wanted it to be. Sorry about that anyway.

Anyway, do read and review.

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**To be Human again **

Blue orbs opened and stared into the ceiling of the barn. Two blinks to get rid of the residue dark spots, then the boy sat up. Briefly, he recalled the previous night then brushed it away. That was the past. What had gone by will not be called back; it is time to think about his own.

Still sitting down, he brushed his clothing reflectively. They were incredibly worn down, not that it mattered, simply because he didn't have the money to buy new ones. Eyeing his shoes, he wandered how much further they would take him. Yet… neither did that matter, he would go as far as he must go to find his answer. That was all that mattered now – his answer.

Finally, he heaved himself onto his feet and picked up his menial baggage. As he tucked his sword into his hakama, his eyes roved the ground, searching for any objects he might have left behind. There was none – maybe simply because there was little to leave behind. The sun was high up in the sky by now, and he had to leave soon.

Stepping out into the sunlight, he grimaced, and raised a hand to shield his dark-accustomed eyes. There were people walking around already – servants of the house he had begged a shelter from.

"Thank you for your accommodations," he called, "I shall be leaving now."

"As you wish, sir," one of the man-servants replied, "May your journey fare well. Did you happen to hear anything while you were out here last night?"

"Anything?"

"Well… me-thoughts I heard screaming last night, but everyone says I'm nuts."

"Anything…" Again there was a brief flash of memory, of the girl struggling, screaming, and staring at him with horror-stricken eyes. "Not at all. Maybe it was the wind."

The man sighed as he returned to his task of drawing water out of the well. "Maybe it was, sir. Indeed, last night, the wind sounded like it was being slaughtered."

"Slaughtered? What an odd word to use."

"Oh no sir," the servant faced him directly, an action so highly inappropriate of his caste, "If that was a person screaming, sir, it would have been terrible. It would have been like the person was being ripped to pieces, sir."

"… That terrible?"

"Oh yes sir, but you are young sir, and I don't think you would have remembered the war, sir, despite the sword you carry at your waist. It was terrible, and last night was terrible."

"If it was a person…"

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you think she… or he suffered?"

"Terribly, sir, terribly."

"Farewell."

"Farewell."

Bowing, Soujiro turned to leave. As he did, a gust of wind blew in from nowhere. It ran a shudder down his back. He didn't know why, but for some reason, he felt a pair of violet eyes glaring accusingly at him from behind, glaring and glaring, demanding an explanation, demanding… compensation.

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Perhaps it was his own consideration, perhaps it was fate. Either way, his feet led him to the river-side. Based on the geography of the lake, he was quite certain this was where the girl had met her doom.

Gazing down into the lake, he wondered again about why he should feel so… upset about the girl's death. It was a totally logical explanation he had given her; it was a totally reasonable action to take given the state his life was in at that moment. How could he carry out Himura's philosophy when he wasn't even sure Himura was totally correct? Again, how could he carry out Shishio's philosophy of slaughtering the weak when he was no longer sure Shishio was the right one? Either way, by carrying out either philosophy, he would be physically rejecting the other. He didn't want that to happen, thus inaction was the answer.

Then what was with the sudden drop in his emotions?

Sighing, he kicked a pebble into the lake. It skipped twice then sank into the water. He raised his foot to kick another then froze.

_Who knows what the stone will hit when it reaches the bottom of the lake? _

Still frozen, he stared into the depths of the river. His eyes seemed to penetrate the murky water, to go past the filth and the dirt to a huge rice bag. Then deeper it went, and a pink kimono flashed into his eyes, a pink kimono with patches of maroon. His eyes traveled around, observing the bruised flesh, the open, decaying cuts, the bone exposed by nature. Upwards, his eyes went to a face half-eaten by fish and worm. Two dark, empty sockets turned to him, eyed him… then a sleeve rose to the forever grinning cavern, and a chilling giggle echoed from the depths of hell.

Gasping, almost whimpering, he backed away from the river bank, his hands flailing helplessly. For one terrible moment, he thought he was going to drop into the muddy water, to fall into the embrace of the corpse bride then he was sitting on the ground again, on solid, dry ground.

Slowly, he climbed to his feet, feeling the after effects of terror; a fatigue that seemed to engulf his entire body. Picking up his baggage where he had dropped it, he started forward again, not once looking back at the river for fear he would see a half-decayed skeleton rising from the depths of the water to claim the debt he now owes her.

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What he needed now, he decided, was someone to talk to. He didn't know how he came up with that conclusion, but… it was something the elderly servants back at Mount Hiei said to the younger servants when they were blushingly revealing their newest crush. In truth, he was not exactly sure how conversing with another person could possibly help him understand the highly disturbing knot that had evolved in his chest. However, he realized ruefully, when it came to the matters of the heart, he knew next to nothing.

That however, led to the next problem. Who on earth (quite literally) could he talk to? Shishio was dead. Yumi, the first person he would have thought of, was dead. Hell, even Houji was dead, though he would never have thought of talking to Houji about matters such as this. Strange, considering the fact that he had been brought up emotionless, that he would have a normal person's bashfulness when it came to talking about the matters of the heart. Perhaps there was hope for him after all.

_Yumi. _

Briefly, his mind flashed back many years back to a conversation he once had with Yumi. She had been _the_ female figure in his life, he realized, considering the fact that no one else around him had been female. Not totally at least.

_"Yumi-san." _

_"What is it, boy?" _

_"Why does Shishio-sama keep you by his side?" _

_"What do you mean by that?" _

_"Well, you aren't very strong, are you?" _

_"You want a whack to the ears, don't you, boy?" _

_"You couldn't catch me even if you wanted to." _

_"… You're right. I'm not strong." _

_"Then why does he keep you by his side? You even stand next to him all the time, along with me, like both of us were his right-hand and left-hand." _

_"Like the both of us were above the rest of those thugs?" _

_"Yeah." _

_"It's because, boy, I'm his woman." _

_"So?" _

_"He loves me." _

_"Love?" _

_"Go figure yourself." _

Yumi was not a very expressive woman, he thought, not like the usual women anyway. She barely cried, even when upset. She merely glared at the source of annoyance, attacked it, stood up to men who were twice her height (and usually twice her width too). Except with Shishio, she had been regal, haughty, somehow projecting herself above the rest by her mere presence.

To him, she had oscillated between a maternal care and concern to a sisterly bullying. She had been the closest thing to a mother he had ever had, yet in the end, perhaps by fault of her nature, perhaps by fault of his, she had never taught him much of the world.

Still staring mournfully at his torn shoes as he tottered down the lane, he realized that no one had taught him anything… anything to do with being human. Even Shishio… Shishio had given him the necessary knowledge to kill, to destroy, to follow, but never the… the wisdom to be human.

Someone else would have to do it. Someone like… a flash, and an eagerly forgotten memory floated reluctantly to his conscious mind. Brilliant red hair, violet eyes that turned mysteriously amber… a small, slight figure. Himura Kenshin. He would have to do, for there was no one else.

Funny, he mused, as he smiled up at the bright sunlight, funny how though a person is born human, he has to be taught how to be human.

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Tokyo, the next dawn, found Soujiro standing outside the Kamiya dojo, staring reflectively at the simple wooden sign that proclaimed the identity of the place. The last time he had been here, he had observed Aoshi terrorizing Megumi. The last time he had been here, he had still been Shishio's young protégé.

Still thinking about the past, he had reached out to push the door open, only to have it shoved almost straight into his face

"Kaoru, I'm going out now, so you do the dishes yourself!" Still spirited, still surprisingly childish, Yahiko had grown into quite the ladies' man.

"Excuse me."

"Oh…" curious eyes scanning the sword at his waist, "What's up?"

For a strange reason, Soujiro felt the temptation to feign naivety and look up. "I'm looking for Himura Kenshin."

"Kenshin?" now the eyes turned suspicious. "What for?"

"To… talk." On hindsight, Soujiro thought, he probably shouldn't have hesitated between the two words; it merely made the young man more suspicious.

"About what?"

"About things."

"What things?"

"Many things."

"Are you screwing with me?"

"No, sir."

"Specify those things."

"I'm being as specific as I can."

A wave of weariness washed over him. After walking almost non-stop the entire day without eating anything, he felt drained. He really didn't have the energy to stand here and continue arguing with the overly hyperactive young man.

"Wouldn't you please let me through?" he almost pleaded, only he didn't, because he was still smiling.

"Well, I must tell you something first," Yahiko went on, crossing his arms, "if you're here to challenge the legendary Battousai, forget it. He's lost almost all his skills already. And, if you are here to kill him, you'll have to go through me."

Soujiro tilted his head, surprised that he didn't feel surprised at the news of Himura's lost skills. "Oh… well, you wouldn't have to hang around then. I'm here to talk, only."

"Right." But he followed him in anyway, watching him in what he felt must have been an inconspicuous way. "Kenshin! A visitor!"

Eyes on his back. Soujiro half turned, just in time to avoid a foot flying at his head.

"Yahiko! Out with your sword! He's the enemy!"

With a speed that was surprising, the young man pulled out a bokken and turned to face him, his eyes almost glowing with hostility. Soujiro sighed as the young lady who had thrown a kick at him spun around, dagger in hand.

"Hello, Misao-san," he said, grinning as happily as he could. It was easy, always easy to smile.

"Seta Soujiro! What are you doing here?"

"Seta Soujiro? Oh, so you _are_ here to kill Kenshin!"

"Let's take him on, Yahiko!"

"Right!"

Before Soujiro could protest, the inner door slid open, and Himura Kenshin stood there. "Stop." It was a quiet voice, but both of them stopped immediately. For a moment, Soujiro had not recognized him. He had cut his hair short, for one. For another, he had lost the graceful gait of a samurai. He walked sluggishly now, not significantly so, but obvious to the Tenken's trained eye.

"Hello, Himura-san," he chirped, wondering as always where he found the energy to act happy, "You really have two very wonderful bodyguards."

"Kenshin," Misao whined, "he's the enemy!"

"He's here to kill you," Yahiko echoed.

"Are you?" Still quiet, but not exhausted or weary; his face glowed with contentment.

"No."

"Then you are welcomed."

"Thank you," he managed to murmur before the two… kids behind him started to raise a racket.

As he passed through the door, he caught a glimpse of a lady hurrying towards them. Kamiya Kaoru, no longer the teen he remembered, but a mother of one. The evidence was swinging comically from her arm. He bowed respectfully before following Himura inside.

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Himura sipped the tea, eyes closed, not overly concerned about his reappearance. "So, why have you come, Soujiro?"

Soujiro picked at the sweet cakes laid before him, feeling quite distracted by the hostility radiating from the other members of the Kamiya dojo, who had chosen to stand at the door and stare at him. "To… talk."

"About what?"

A sense of déjà vu. "Things, and that is really as specific as I can get," he muttered hurriedly. He realized that ever since he had entered the dojo, he hadn't dropped the smile from his face. He was wearing his mask again… perhaps out of nervousness.

"I see. Should I chase my overly curious family away?"

That brought forth a bout of protests from his overly curious family.

"It's ok," Soujiro replied, and before he could stop himself, he added, "They think so much of me as a bastard, I suppose it wouldn't matter if what I say adds to that impression."

"Your wandering years have not gone well." A statement, not a question. He knew.

"Yes."

"Have you not reached a conclusion? It's been five years already."

"It goes round and round in my mind." Now he lifted a cake and bit into it, not so much to eat, though he was hungry, but to… do something. "This five years have passed in inaction."

"You haven't been wandering?"

"Oh no." He's smile grew wider. "I have been. Just… inaction, as in not doing anything… that relates to either philosophy."

Himura's face was mysteriously blank as he mirrored Soujiro's action of eating a cake. "Tell me about it."

"I have run into people who needed help, but I have turned away because to help would mean to accept your philosophy. Yet, needed have I turned away because they are weak, and should die. It's just… not doing either to… avoid choosing."

In the silence, the whisper of "Sicko" from Misao to Yahiko was painfully obvious, but he ignored it.

"Inaction is a choice."

"Yes… I know."

"If you do not carry out either philosophy, how would you know which one to choose?"

"Because…" Speechless for a moment, Soujiro stared into his tea then added, "but… that's not really what bothers me so much." He hadn't, had he? He hadn't come all the way to Tokyo to talk about this.

"Then what does?" Kenshin was leaning slightly towards him now. "I can tell something is bothering you, so why don't you tell me about it."

"I have let many people die before," Soujiro carried on, absent-mindedly swirling the tea in his cup, "the last time was… the night before last."

Again, a whispered comment from Misao to Yahiko. The hostility was growing.

"What was different this time?" Direct, straight to the point; Himura had noticed it straight away.

"I didn't mind so much in the night, but in the morning, I didn't like it."

"Why didn't you like it?"

"I wouldn't know. All I know is…" he licked his lips nervously, recalling the journey to Tokyo from the lake.

_A flash of pink hiding behind a rock when further examination showed no signs of any human being; a skeleton hand, gesturing to him from beyond the trees; a grinning skull, floating before his eyes. Worst of all, the giggle that whispered in his ears when no one was near him. _

"All I know is…" he repeated, "I can't escape from it."

"I know." There was a touch of finality in the older man's voice this time. "I know what it is you are feeling." A crimson eyebrow was raised. "Have you felt it before?"

Curiously, he had. "Yes. When Shishio… and Yumi died."

"How did this feeling came about?"

"At first, I felt miserable. That, I can still identify; I spent the first eight years of my life being miserable." Suddenly, he felt his smile changing; stretching into what he felt had to be a maniacal smile. "Then straight away, this feeling came about… the one we've been talking about. It came about when I thought… I should have killed you when I could."

A howl sounded to his left, and he leapt away just in time to avoid having his head bashed in by a bokken. "Get away from him, Kenshin! He's going to hurt you!" Yahiko shouted as he confronted Soujiro. "I knew he couldn't be trusted!"

"I'm covering your back!" Misao cried as Kaoru dashed in front of Kenshin, her bokken in hand. "Let's kill this sicko!"

"I don't know why you would still want to kill Kenshin," the lady of the house said, "but I wouldn't let you do it." Her child lay on the floor, making odd gurgling noises.

Standing in the corner, hands at his side in the most non-confrontational manner he could manage, he smiled at his feet as the three of them waved their weapons at him. He hadn't expected welcome, he knew, but somehow… based on the way he had seen them behave, he had thought… at least they wouldn't be hostile.

"Kaoru! Misao! Yahiko!"

"Stand back, Kenshin!"

"I don't think he wants to hurt me! Do put your weapons away."

"But Kenshin…"

And this was a man who believed in non-violence! Look at the way his family reacted to him when he hadn't even done anything!

"Soujiro, I would suggest you put your sword on the floor to convince my family that…"

"Oh, that wouldn't be necessary." Swiping his baggage off the floor, he bowed deeply. "Thank you so much for this extremely warm welcome, Himura-san, but I think that I've out stayed my welcome."

"Soujiro, I don't think…"

"Oh no, you do think," he smiled as he watched the changes in the expression of Kamiya Kaoru. The hostility in her face had vanished to be replaced with something else, a something he had felt when Shishio and Yumi died, and when he had let the lady dancer die. "Kamiya-san… ah, no… Himura do-nou, What are you feeling right now?"

She stared at him, startled. "Guilt," she replied confusedly, "I feel… guilty for that outburst."

"Thank you." He bowed again and let himself out of the dojo.

As he left, he heard Himura's voice quietly reprimanding his family. There were a few quiet protests then nothing at all. Vaguely, he heard a lady… Misao, apparently, offering to chase after him and invite him back.

He wouldn't have accepted the offer anyway, not even if Himura himself came chasing after him. He had been right in coming to the Kamiya dojo to… learn how to be human. Despite the antagonism and the aggression, he had learned… taken the first step after five years, rediscovered the one of the many emotions he had lost many years back. He still hadn't decided which was the answer to his question, but he had learnt something else.

The Tenken had learnt guilt.

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End file.
